Saturday Morning

I want to finish writing about last weekend, but right now I want to tell you about our morning. The alarm went off at 5:15, and Jeremiah and I rolled out of bed to start the day. Pace’s room is right off of ours and this has grown into something of a problem. It is hard to walk through a 1 1/2 year old’s room (with old, creaky wooden floors) turn off the alarm system, open, and finally re-close the door without waking her up. Each morning, I perform this ritual with bated breath while Jeremiah tromps through with his loud shoes, opens the door to the kitchen (instead of the one to the guest room that is much more quiet), leaves doors open and flips on lights so that it floods into Pace’s room and right into her sleeping face. THEN, even if she has somehow managed to sleep through this parade, Jeremiah has inevitably left his keys, or his phone, or his… in our room and implores me to sneak back through for him. This is our ritual, and it is about to push me over the edge. You see, I hold out this glimmer of hope each morning that TODAY will be the day that we make it through without waking her. TODAY will be the day that I can climb back into bed after Jeremiah leaves for work, pull the covers back up to my chin, and sleep the morning away in peace. But, every morning she wakes up (usually it’s Jeremiah’s fault :)), and I find myself biting my lip in utter disappointment.

So, today Jeremiah and I are sitting at the breakfast table (Pace didn’t REALLY wake up until I had to walk back through to look for Jeremiah’s keys), and I tell him that the monotony is getting to me. It’s not the long hours or the nights on call as much anymore, it’s just the sheer fact that there are so few days when he’s truly off. Weekends fade into the week. Saturday is no longer for sleeping in and having fun; it’s just another day of the week. Even on days when he doesn’t technically have to work, he still has to get up early to go see his patients, and thus the Pace cycle never ends.

This morning, I decided, would be different. I was going to feel Saturday if it killed me. So, I put a sweat-suit over Pace’s pajamas and threw a jacket on with mine. I called Krispy Kreme to find out where they were, and Pace and I went out for Saturday morning doughnuts. As our car pulled up in front of that big glass window, I began to search frantically for the “Hot Now” sign. There it was, glowing in its ruby red glory, waiting for us to come inside and take in the sweet smell of freshly baked and glazed doughnuts. Pace had caught onto my excitement (possibly because the whole drive over I kept grinning at her in the back seat and saying, “Doughnuts! UMMM they’re going to be SO good.”) and could hardly wait for me to get her out of her carseat.

We walked in to find a big black woman (BBW) taking orders behind the counter. I hope this doesn’t sound horribly prejudiced, but I love to see a BBW serving breakfast. There is something about the way they look, that tells me not only do they know how to make a good doughnut, but so did their Mama, and their Grandmama. Something about their knowing smile says, “Don’t worry baby, I didn’t scrimp on butter, or sugar, or cream, or anything else yore mama says is bad for you.” With a BBW behind the counter, I knew my breakfast was going to be top notch. When this sweet lady started loving on Pace, the deal was sealed! So, I ordered half a dozen–4 glazed and 2 chocolate covered–and Pace and I headed straight for the little table in the corner, by the window, so that those “Hot Now” doughnuts wouldn’t lose any more of their warmth than absolutely necessary.

I sat Pace in my lap and she looked curiously at me, not knowing what all this excitement could possibly be about. What were we about to eat, that brought us out of the house, in our pajamas no less, first thing in the morning. It didn’t take her long to figure it out. As I pinched off that first warm, sugar-coated bite and placed it in her mouth, a blank stare came over her face. I was disappointed, “Is it possible that MY child could not like doughnuts???” But then, slowly, a little smile began to edge up the corners of her mouth, and with all teeth showing she declared, “Dodo,” and lunged her hand towards the box. We ate, and we ate, and we quenched our thirst with rich whole milk. We are ladies, and I am not going to tell you how many of those “Dodos” we ate, but we made our fair mark upon Krispy Kreme this morning. As we drove home, Pace chanted, “Dodo, Gall Gone!” from the back seat, as I smiled happily and FELT Saturday morning.